You May Be My Brother, But You're Not My Brother
by Dark Satirist
Summary: Sam is angry about Dean's attitude toward him since the older Winchester came out of retirement. Dean is feeling poorly about Sam's new attitude toward life in general. A fight ensues.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the boys. But man... I wish I do. Sigh. **

**Author's Note: This is a far sight different than any of the other season 6 stories you've read. You want to know why? Cause I don't take Dean's side in this. I feel as though I've done that enough already (_Not Sam _and _The Ugly Truth_). If you want to read about how Sam is not Sam in this season, go read one of those. **

**Author's Note 2: I'm going to be a little brutual, but I think you guys can handle it. If you don't agree with this story, then fine. Don't review. Or review and tell me (POLITELY) why you don't like this story. Bashing WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED. I know that this is going against the grain, which is why I'm writing it. I like to be the rebel.**

**Author's Note 3: So I was originally writing a different fic that featured one more version of Sam not being really Sam... but then Sam got pissed at me and threatened to give me the puppy dog eyes unless I conceded to write something that tells his version of the events of season 6. Cause let's face it... everyone has been ragging on him about this whole no-soul thing. He was starting to get a little pissy. And let's face it, there is no happiness in the world when Sam is pissy. Especially for writers.**

**Author's Note 4: No, I have not seen _Family Matters_. Not yet. So, no, this has no spoilers for the actual episode, but it does have some for the preview.**

**Warnings/Spoilers: Some language, hence the T rating. A barfight. Some mild spoilers for season 5 and season 6 (I reccommend not watching if you haven't seen the season 5 finale or the previews for the latest _Supernatural _episode). Unfortunately, this really does not have a happy ending and no, I am not planning on doing a second chapter.**

**Summary: Sam is angry about Dean's attitude toward him since the older Winchester came out of retirement. Dean is feeling poorly about Sam's new attitude toward life in general. A barfight ensues. **

* * *

**You May Be My Brother, But You're Not _My _Brother**

It was a losing battle. Between the darkness that was constantly growing inside of him and the lack of anything resembling help from Dean, Sam knew that this was going to be one fight he would never win. And to be totally honest, he wasn't sure if it was one he wanted to win.

To lose meant to finally be free of everything—Hell, hunting, the nightmares, the constant plague of damn monsters trying to eat him on a regular basis. In a way, losing this battle to the darkness inside of him would mean he actually won. He would have made a conscious effort to become that monster. He would have finally controlled his life, the one thing he had been trying to do since practically the day he was born.

To win meant to be stuck in this purgatory with Dean, who no matter what he said, would never trust Sam again. Not that Sam blamed him—lying multiple times to his face, nearly killing him, watching him become undead… that put a damper on _any_ relationship. Winning, in a roundabout way, would mean he lost. That he couldn't control the life he lived. That he couldn't escape the world he lived in.

But there was the issue of Dean. Dean, the one person who had been there for the majority of Sam's life.

_But then,_ Sam's darker side thought, _where has your brother been for the past _two_ years?_

Dean, the one person who had saved Sam's life ever since Sam was six months old.

_But did Sam really want to be saved?_

Dean the one person who Sam could count on.

_And who let Sam down the most when Sam blatantly asked for help_.

Dean, the one person who Sam betrayed more often than he protected, but still allowed Sam to come crawling back.

_But was the one person who drove Sam away the most. Including John._

Dean. The one person who would probably actually miss Sam.

_Or would he be relieved that Sam was finally dead after all of this time?_

Dean. Sam's brother.

_But how long had it been since they had actually _been_ brothers?_ _Two years? Three? _

Dean.

_Dean_.

Sam sipped at his third beer, these thoughts bouncing around in his skull as he glared stonily at the bar patrons. He had recently escaped from his brother and the damned angel Castiel, who had declared that Sam didn't have a soul.

_I'll give you soulless,_ Sam thought as his knuckles turned white around his bottle.

The door to the bar opened, sending a gust of icy air through the bar. Sam didn't have to look up to know who it was.

"How did you find me?"

"Seriously, dude? Just because you don't have a soul anymore doesn't mean that I don't know you."

There was just something about that familiar drawl that made Sam both want to punch Dean in the face and hug him.

The soulless part of him came close to winning that battle.

"It's been a year, Dean. How well do you really know me? Hell, you didn't even know that I don't have a soul."

"You're drunk."

Sam hated Dean's ready sarcasm, his witty retorts, and his calm acceptance of _everything_. He hated that smug look, that leather jacket, the casual arrogant stance, and that damned spiky hair. He hated everything about his brother.

"You didn't answer the question."

"You're my brother. That's how I know you."

Sam snorted, taking another swig of his beer.

"So all that crap about me not really being your brother, that was just a lie? Huh. Cause _that's_ believable."

"Believe whatever you want, man. I'm just trying to help."

Sam laughed bitterly. It was a cruel, high laugh that he knew didn't suit him, but at that moment, he didn't care.

"You're kidding, right? You want to _help_? That's a laugh."

He heard Dean sigh as the older hunter sat down next to Sam.

"You're a pissy drunk, you know that?"

"And you're a lousy brother."

"At least I don't let my brother be turned into a monster."

"At least I don't punch the shit out of my brother once he's admitted that he's terrified and needs help."

"I punched you for being a lying bastard."

"I never really lied to you, Dean."

"You let me believe you were dead. You let me believe you were in _Hell_, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever. Family doesn't do that to each other. _We_ don't do that to each other. When I got out of Hell, the first thing I did was go and find you."

"That's because you're the better brother," Sam said sarcastically as he finished off his third beer and signaled the bartender for a fourth one. He ignored Dean's glare.

"No. It's because it was the right thing to do, Sam."

"The right thing to do?" Sam echoed in disbelief. "The right thing to do. Right. And that's what I thought _I_ was doing when I jumped into the Pitt. And then I _thought_ I was doing the right thing when I wanted you to have a better life with Lisa. Sorry for trying to be a good brother."

"Being a good brother?" Dean snorted. "Yeah. Cause good brothers let their siblings be turned into vampires."

"And good brothers punch the other's lights out when they ask for help," Sam retorted.

They glared at each other, neither really noticing that they had been yelling at each other and that the whole bar had gone silent.

"You don't think you deserved to be decked?" Dean asked rhetorically.

"You don't think you deserved to have a decent life?" Sam returned. "You ruined that one all by yourself, Dean-o."

"You keep this up, I'm going to deck you again," Dean threatened.

"Do it," Sam taunted. "Show the little _soulless _brother how much better you are. Cause you have an angel sitting on your shoulder. Do it. Punch me, _Dean_."

Had he been a little less drunk and a little more aware of his surroundings, Sam _might_ have noticed the dangerous glint in Dean's eyes and the very visible struggle Dean was having with himself.

But… he didn't. But he _did_ notice Dean's fist coming out of nowhere and slamming into his face.

Sam flat out refused to admit it, but that _hurt like a mother fucker_. His head snapped with the blow. But instead of admitting defeat, he spat blood out onto the counter and grinned devilishly at Dean.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Oh yeah? Because you're soulless and not scared of me? C'mon, _Sammy_," Dean said, looking dangerously gleeful. "We both know that I'm a better fighter than you'll ever be."

"And why's that?" Sam asked. "Because you're older? Because you were Johnny's favorite?"

"No," Dean said as they both slid off their barstools and started circling each other. "Because I'm a better hunter. I'm smarter. I'm faster. And I'm stronger."

He probably would have said more if Sam hadn't punched him square in the face. Dean retaliated instantly, the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Sam ducked the blow aimed his way and tackled Dean to the floor, punching his brother wildly in the face.

They tussled on the floor for a few moments, exchanging blows and insults, neither really gaining the upper hand over the other.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it behind his back, popping the shoulder joint out of place as he yanked them both to their feet. Sam couldn't hold back the hiss of pain as he kneed Dean where it hurt. Dean backed away, letting go of Sam's injured arm.

"Is that all you've got?" Dean taunted. "I thought you were a better hunter than I'll ever be! Gotta say, this is pretty pathetic, Sammy."

Sam growled at his brother, looking for a weakness in Dean's defense as he attempted to breathe past the pain.

"You think you're so much better than I am?" Sam returned, wincing as he pulled himself up to his full height. "Because you're older and wiser and haven't strayed down the beaten path? Because you didn't sacrifice yourself to Lucifer? Because you were chosen for Heaven's side and I was chosen for Hell's? Is that why you think you're so much better than I am?"

Dean's face turned from sarcastic to an unreadable mask. Sam didn't care. He was past caring. He wasn't sure if he remembered the last time he gave a damn about anything.

"You're not better than I am," he continued. "You're weak and useless and too damn _angsty_ to be a decent hunter anymore. You've cracked, Dean. And you don't want to admit it, either. That's why you attacked me when I asked you for your help. Not because you thought I was a monster or because you thought that I was lying to you or anything that really had to do with me. You were like a wild animal, scared and cornered and you _reacted_ like you _always_ do. Like now."

"You don't know shit, Sam," Dean said, his jaw tightening. "You've always been so obsessed with yourself that you can't see what's right in front of your face. You can't see how different you've become. How unlike _you_, you truly are."

Sam saw the punch coming and could have avoided it, but instead let Dean hit him. He grabbed Dean's wrist and twisted it, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as Dean's face whitened.

"I have noticed, Dean," Sam responded breathing heavily. "That's why I finally told you what was going on. Because I couldn't take it anymore and I wanted to change. I know I said I wasn't afraid of anything, but I was afraid of what I was becoming. And I wanted you to help me fix it. Because no matter what I've done, _you_ have always been there for me. Not Samuel, not Bobby, not Dad… _you_. And you turned on me that night. You took everything I said and threw it back into my face. And then you got that damn angel to come and torture me and say that I had no soul. So excuse me if I think you're pathetic."

Dean was staring at Sam like he'd never seen him before. Sam released his brother's wrist and turned around. He grabbed his last beer, chugged it, and picked up his jacket. He ignored the pain in his shoulder and the throb in his face as he turned back to Dean.

"All I wanted, Dean," Sam said, "was my brother."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own them.**

**Author's Note: I officially suck. I say I'm not going to add another chapter and then I do. I say I'm going to add another chapter and then I never do. Go figure. Oh well. **

**Author's Note 2: This one probably got a little too out of character with the current relationship between Sam and Dean... but I'm a sucker for a happy ending. This was seriously going to be more angsty... but then... Sam and his blasted puppy dog eyes got in the way. And then Dean started bitching at me for putting that look there. So. Here is the unpromised second chapter.**

**You May Be My Brother, But You're Not _My_ Brother**

**Chapter 2 **

Dean gripped his injured wrist tightly with his good hand, watching in astonishment as Sam walked out the bar door. He couldn't believe that had just happened, that Sam had just _left_.

_And why not?_ he thought darkly. _That's what Sam always does. He leaves._

Sam had no right to be angry or to call Dean pathetic or to say that Dean was a loser. After everything the lying bastard had done, where did _he_ get off on calling _Dean_ a traitor? It was Sam who always betrayed Dean, not the other way around. So what if Dean had punched Sam? The jackass more than deserved it.

And now he had fucking left. Where the hell was the justice in that? He broke his brother's wrist, accused Dean of being a horrible brother, and then. Fucking. Left.

"Damn bastard," Dean growled, massaging his hurt wrist.

But as much as Dean wanted to hate Sam for leaving, for not having a soul, for breaking Dean's wrist, for _every single thing that had gone wrong over the past year_, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because damn it, Sam had a point. Soulless or not, it wasn't really Sam that had been acting soulless or heartless or whatever in that fight. Sam hadn't been the one to dislocate his brother's shoulder (though Dean was ninety percent certain that his wrist was broken). Sam hadn't been the one to call his brother a monster or a bastard, though Dean was fairly sure Sam had wanted to. All Sam had wanted was for Dean to help him. And dean had to go and be John, the overprotective jackass that was so screwed up in the head that he couldn't really see that he was doing more harm than good.

And damn, was that an awakening.

Yes, Sam didn't have a soul. Yes, Sam was a terrifying bastard when he went into hunter mode. Yes, he might have forgotten to mention the fact that he was out of Hell. Yes, he had tried to leave Dean out of the life for as long as possible.

But did any of that really add up to anything in the long run?

Sam didn't have a soul. Solution: find the damn bastard who had it and get it back. That shouldn't be too hard—Dean already had a good guess as to who had Sam's soul. The devilish little bastard.

Sam was a terrifying bastard when he went into hunter mode. Was that really news? Sam had always been a little scary when he got moody and overprotective and just plain bitchy. He was six-foot four and pure muscle for crying out loud. It would be freaky if Sam _wasn't_ scary.

Sam forgot to tell Dean that he was out of Hell. Agh. That one wasn't quite as easy to forgive. Dean understood where his brother was coming from, but _damn it_, Sam still should have done _something_. Sent up smoke signals, left a cryptic text message, gotten in trouble with the cops and gotten his face broadcasted on national television… _something_. You didn't just let your brother think that you were dead and in Hell. Especially when said brother had been to Hell and knew what it did to a person.

Leaving Dean out of the life was a laugh. Sam knew better than anyone that hiding from hunting didn't solve anything.

But Dean couldn't really blame Sam for that either. As much as he wanted to. Dean had been hiding all by himself. And he really hadn't been doing that great of a job, either. Salting the doors at night, leaving nice little devil's traps underneath the floor mats, constantly restocking his Impala's supply of dead man's blood and silver bullets… yeah. Dean might not have been actively hunting, but he still had the tendencies of a hunter.

Yes. Sam was soulless. But in some respects, so was Dean. He had left a part of himself in Hell. He knew it. He was fairly certain that Sam knew it. Heck, Bobby even probably knew. The idjit.

Yes, Sam was a terrifying bastard in hunter mode. But so was Dean. That was what made them so good at what they do, so _lethal_, so unstoppable.

Yes. Sam left Dean out of hunting. But Dean really wasn't too upset about that after all.

Yes. Sam should have said more about his escape from Hell.

And that was why Dean was so pissed off. Because he should have known that Sam was out of Hell. Maybe Sam hadn't told him. But Dean should have _known_. Somehow. Some way.

Okay. So the four major points were out of the way. Dean, per usual, hated himself and made himself feel guilty about Sam's soullessness and not knowing that Sam was out of Hell.

And then there was the real crux of the problem. The result of those four major points. The outcome of Dean bottling his anger and his paranoia and shaking it all up and uncorking it on Sam right when the guy asked for help.

Sam probably more than deserved it. He had just spent the last two months lying to Dean about being all human and perfectly fine and all that jazz. He had just spent the last twenty-four hours lying to Dean's face. He had spent the last twenty-some-odd years running away from Dean.

So yeah, Dean was a little more than justified in decking Sam.

But his timing sucked. He should have waited until after he found out what was wrong with Sam, fixed it, and gotten his real brother back before he had gone all _Cain and Abel _on the kid.

"Damn it," Dean swore, glaring at the now empty bar. The bartender, who Dean had to admit was _smoking_, glared at Dean.

"What are you looking at?" Dean demanded, glaring back. He didn't care how freaking adorable she looked. He was in no mood to deal with her bitchiness.

"You're an idiot," she said, shaking her head.

"And you don't know what the hell is going on, so why don't you just stay out of it?" Dean snapped.

"Fine," the bartender said with a shrug. "But my brother and me had a fight like yours a few years back. It didn't end well."

"What happened?" Dean asked with grudging curiosity.

"He died," the bartender said bluntly. "Ran out of our house right in front of a drunk driver. Never stood a chance. And all he wanted was for me to help him get over his meth addiction. I told him that I was done cleaning up his mess and he was on his own. Hell, he disappeared for over two years and didn't even bother to tell me that he was alive."

"I know the feeling," Dean admitted. He sighed. "I screwed up big time, didn't I?"

"Not trying to make you feel guilty," the bartender said with another shrug. "But from what I heard in your fight, you two have a lot to work out with each other. And yes, you royally fucked up."

"He just rubs me the wrong way sometimes," Dean said. "A lot of the time, actually."

"He's your brother," the bartender said.

"Me and Sam aren't normal brothers," Dean said softly, not realizing how screwed up that sounded until he saw the look on the bartender's face. "No. Nothing like that! It's just… we've both always had each other's backs. Until now, it seems. Actually, it's been more like the past three years. And I just can't help but wonder if things are ever going to go back to anything resembling normal."

"Take it from me," the bartender said. "Wishing for normal only ever gets in your way. Normal doesn't exist. What used to be is gone. You've got to suck it up and deal with your problems or you're going to end up alone and angry at the world."

"You're telling me I should go after my idiot of a brother?" Dean asked, already fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. It was unavoidable. He was going to have to face his brother again anyway. They were staying at the same damn hotel. And it was pouring down rain and Dean highly doubted Sam would hitchhike in this weather.

Or at least, he hoped he wouldn't.

"I'm not telling you anything," the bartender said. "But I hope you do. If you two were as close as you say you were, I wouldn't let that go to waste. So what if he's changed over the past three years? You have too, I'm betting. So, accept that what's gone is gone and focus on now."

"You sound so much like my ex, it's not even funny," Dean said. He flipped through his contacts and found Sam's number. "Thanks."

"I didn't do anything," the bartender shrugged.

"Yeah. Sure you didn't," Dean said.

He left the bar, pressing _call_ on his phone. He really wasn't that surprised when Sam's phone went straight to voicemail. If he were Sam, he probably wouldn't want to talk to him either.

"Hey, uh, it's me," Dean said lamely. "I know that you're pissed at me. And you have every right to be. I'm not going to apologize for what I did. You deserved at least one of those punches for lying so much lately. But… damn it, Sammy…"

He trailed off, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say. He sighed.

"You've always been the one with everything to say," he said. "That sounded stupid. Gah. This whole situation is stupid. And did I really just say gah? Crap."

He heard someone pick up on the other end and would willingly admit to anyone watching that yes, his breath caught slightly.

"Sam?"

There was breathing on the other end, but no other reply.

"Look, man, all I wanted to say was that I'm sorry for calling you a bastard," Dean said. "And for dislocating your shoulder. And for letting Cass torture you. That was probably really stupid. I should have asked you before I did that. Not that it would have mattered. When Cass gets into that mood, he's kind of hard to snap out of it… I'm babbling again."

"_You think?_" Sam scoffed.

Dean jumped. He hadn't been expecting Sam to really say anything.

"Sam, I'm sorry," he tried again.

"_I know,_" Sam said, sighing heavily. "_And I am too. I shouldn't have lied like that. I should have told you earlier. And yeah, I probably should have sent you some sort of message saying that I was alive. But I just wanted you to have a good life, you know? Like the one I couldn't have with Jess._"

"You sure you don't have a soul?" Dean asked, his voice half-joking. "Because that was pretty heartfelt right there, Sammy."

"_Dean_," Sam said tiredly.

"You okay?" Dean asked, wincing. That was a stupid thing to ask. Of course Sam wasn't okay. Dean wasn't okay either.

"_I'm fine,_" Sam said, his voice hollow. "_Just tired of everything. Tired of fighting, tired of hunting, tired of the world in general… just plain fucking tired._"

"So am I," Dean said quietly.

They both stood there for a while, just listening to the other breathe. In a strange way, it was comforting.

"You know, Lisa told me that we have an unhealthy relationship," Dean said randomly. He mentally smacked himself. _Where the hell do I come up with these thing?_

"_Well, she's a smart woman,_" Sam said caustically. "_I mean, this whole dying for each other and then winding up hating each other can't be exactly healthy."_

"Sam, I don't hate you," Dean said quietly. "I just—I don't know you as well as I used to. And that bugs the crap out of me."

"_For the record, I don't hate you either,_" Sam said. "_Though I think things would be easier if we _did _hate each other."_

"Yeah, probably," Dean admitted with a soft chuckle. "We'd probably stop dying quite so much."

"_Yeah, that would be a nice bonus,_" Sam said, groaning through the phone. "_You really did a number on my shoulder, you know that?_"

"Yeah, well, you got your payback," Dean said. "My wrist hurts like a bitch."

"_You would know,"_ Sam snorted.

"Ouch, Sam, that hurt," Dean said sarcastically. "Where are you right now, anyway?"

"_Behind you,_" Sam said.

Dean turned, sighing as he saw his brother approaching from the other end of the bar. He was obviously favoring his injured shoulder and he had his jacket slung loosely around him.

"You look like shit, dude," Dean said as Sam stopped a few feet away.

"Thanks," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "You done bitching at me because I don't have my soul?"

"You done lying?" Dean asked.

"It depends," Sam said, cocking his head and studying Dean. It was such a _Sam_ thing to do.

"On what?" Dean wanted to know.

Sam shrugged his good shoulder. "Whether or not you include our job in that lying thing. Cause let's face it, ninety-nine percent of our job is lying."

Dean glared at Sam.

"Your bitch face has improved remarkably," Sam commented with a smirk. It faded as quickly as it appeared. "Dean, I wasn't lying earlier when I told you I wanted your help. Or my brother back."

"It's kind of hard to tell with you sometimes," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said. "But I'm done. With everything. The lying, the hunting with Samuel, all of it."

"You don't want to hunt with old Granddad anymore?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"His car sucks," Sam said. "And it smells funny."

Dean snorted. Of all the things to say…

"So," Sam said. "Brothers?"

Remembering the bartender's words from earlier, Dean shrugged.

"We'll see how it goes," he said. "No lying. And no more going to Hell just because you want to save the world. And no more not telling me when you get back from Hell."

"Well, seeing as you just said that I can't go to Hell," Sam said, trailing off with a patented bitch face.

"You've never listened to me anyway," Dean said.

"No reason to start now!" Sam said with a smirk.

"Bitch," Dean growled.

"Jerk," Sam retorted.


End file.
